Her Black Heart (The Dark Amulet Series Book 2) (13 page)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

Julia

Julia blinked and rubbed her eyes.
Holy shit.
A fanned out stack of crisp one hundred dollar bills lay in the middle of the bed where she’d tossed the letter from Abaddon. The Demon came through. She almost felt guilty for doubting her message had been received. She gathered the money and counted how many hundreds there were. “One…two…three,” she thumbed through quickly, “holy crap, fifteen. No way.” After climbing onto the bed she tossed the money into the air. The notes rained down on her. She made money-angels and giggled. They were going to do Chicago first class style.

She took a taxi to the train station and arrived at twenty minutes to eight. Raz hadn’t showed up yet. Julia paced in front of the ticket booth after paying. According to the train schedule, they should arrive in Chicago at twelve-thirty in the morning. The museum opened at nine the next day. She made a hotel reservation at the Hyatt for the night and told them what time their train was arriving. They were more than understanding but would be charging her for two nights.

The clock over the ticket window read eight-fifteen. “Where is he?” she mumbled under her breath. If he didn’t show up soon, she would have to board and leave him stranded. In truth, she probably could handle the trip without him, but she’d grown used to having him around. Yeah…that was it. She merely liked his company; she didn’t
need
him around.

“Eight-thirty train to Chicago, now boarding.”

Julia paced frantically, her heart flip-flopping.

“Did you miss me?” She flinched and clutched her chest. Raz snuck up on her. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

“No,” she said, then swatted at him without turning around. She missed.

He chuckled.

“Whatever, you—oh my God.” Julia had pivoted and glowered at him.

“No. Deus.”

“Y-you have…wings.”

“I know,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “They’re gray, but…” The angel shrugged. He led her toward the train with her mouth hung open.

“What happened? I thought you just needed to run an errand.” They climbed the steps and boarded the train.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

Amalya

“Big day today,” Amalya said.

“Yep,” Elliott responded but she could tell he wasn’t paying attention. He picked at his steak and mashed potatoes dinner. Leaning over his plate, he sighed.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like your steak?”

“No, it’s fine…worried about Dahl—never mind.”

“You can say it; you’re worried about your ex-girlfriend.” Amalya sighed. She didn’t particularly want to hear why he was worried, but she also didn’t want him to not talk about his troubles either. She gathered their dishes and bent to kiss the top of his head on the way to the kitchen sink.

Elliott gasped. “What the—Amalya? I didn’t notice before.”

“What?” When she turned around, he was biting his nails. “I thought you quit that.” He stared at her feet. Twirling in the same spot, her eyes searched the tile and she lifted one foot at a time. “Is something wrong?” Her mate looked up at her face and a smile perked both corners of his mouth. His earlier grumpy mood disappeared in an instant. “What?” she giggled.

“You’re pregnant.”

Amalya swallowed and choked on her spit. A coughing fit ensued. Elliott rushed to her side and rubbed her back. Once she regained her composure, she said, “No, I’m not. You’re crazy.”

He stared at her, grinning.

“I’m not pregnant. I’m seriously not. I mean, how can you tell so quickly?”

His rich baritone laughter filled the tiny kitchen. “You are, sweetheart. You are.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and placed his other palm on her lower belly.

A sickening feeling crept over her. Their mating and the sensations she felt in her abdomen, they caused her fertility to blossom. He rested a cheek on the top of her head.

“Elliott?”

“What?”

“Um, the mating ritual…is that, does that have anything to do with me getting pregnant?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “I mean, could I have gotten knocked up without it?”

“No.”

Blood drained out of her head. “Don’t you think that is something I ought to have been told?”

“Why? Didn’t you think this could be a possibility?”

“But I thought females couldn’t get pregnant. The Warriors can’t.”

“Well,” he sucked in a breath, “that’s not the whole story. Only Warriors on active duty can’t. They can retire, get mated, and have children. If they want, but most don’t. It’s not the norm.”

“
I’m
on active duty.” Tears fell from her eyes.

“You’re different. Not a Warrior.” Elliott stroked her wing.

“What does not being a Warrior have to do with anything?” She stepped from his embrace and looked up into his eyes. The overhead light shined, revealing a slight variation in color around the pupil. The black became…less black.

“It has a lot to do with what becomes of our child.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice lowered. Something in his eyes told her she wasn’t going to like what he said next.

“If we have a male, he’ll be Sacred. And raised to welcome human souls into Arcadia. This is such an honor for the parents. Believe me.” He beamed.

“What happens if we have a girl, will she be a Warrior?” Amalya hoped for this. Golden wings were so cool and to know her daughter would become a badass someday…

“No, only children of Warriors will become Warriors. But if we have a girl, we get to keep her.”

“I’m sorry what? What do you mean
keep
? Like if we have a male, he gets shipped off somewhere? I don’t think so.” Amalya didn’t like the sound of that. She wasn’t convinced Elliott was right about the pregnancy anyway, but the thought of their potential child being taken from her. No fucking way.

“It’s an
honor
.” He stared at her like she was the insane one.

“No, it’s not. Are you mad? If I’m having a baby, I’m keeping it. Period.”

“And we will, if it’s a girl. We’ll raise her to—”

She laughed without humor. “Yeah, she just won’t be
Sacred.
Warrior. Whatever!” Amalya used air quotes. “No one is taking my baby from me. End of discussion. You understand me?” She poked his chest. Amalya wanted to pound her fists and feet on the ground.

“Calm down. Be reasonable. Let me explain. Shit, I forget there’s so much you don’t know about our customs.”

She wanted to strangle him. “Well, this one I
hate
. And there’s nothing to explain. You be reasonable.” Amalya walked away, but only got as far as the kitchen threshold. Sobs racked her body. Maybe she
was
pregnant. She breathed deeply and quivered on the exhale. Elliott teleported in front of her and hugged her to his chest. He smoothed her hair.

“No one’s taking our baby,” she whispered.

“Shhh. We’ll figure this out.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

***

Virgil was already asleep when they came to bed. Amalya lay down next to Elliott, who was on his side facing her. He snaked his hand under her nightshirt. “Hey, Virgil’s in the room. Right next to us,” she whispered out the side of her mouth.

“So? He won’t touch you.”

“He’s in the room.”

“Sleeping,” he said incredulously.

“What if he wakes up?”

“He’d never touch you. Don’t worry.” Elliott knelt between her legs and pulled the shirt up, exposing her sex to him.

“I’m not worried about that.”

He blanketed her body with his. The underside of his hard shaft pressed into her core. “Good, because you have to know he’d never dishonor me in that way.”

Dishonor?

“What are you saying? You make no sense sometimes.”

Elliott stilled his grinding. “What I’m saying…I guess, I never explained this one either. Mated females aren’t to be touched by another male angel again, except by a Healer.”

Amalya realized Virgil never touched her. Ever since their mating ritual had been performed. Not even an accidental brush. And he always slept on the other side of Elliott in bed. “Never? And how would anyone know if the female were mated?”

“Males can tell.”

“All males?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Curious.” Amalya knew he didn’t believe her.

“Did Virgil—”

“No. Never. You can trust him. He might annoy the crap out of me sometimes, but he’s always respectful of me in that way.

He sighed. “Who?”

“No one.”

“Amalya. Who?”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was embarrassed and acted all weird after it happened.”

“After what happened? And don’t tell me one of your wings.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Who?”

She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Raz,” she squeaked.

“Arghhhh!” Elliott flapped his wings and landed on the floor. He yanked open a dresser drawer and plugged his legs into a pair of black jeans. Amalya pulled her shirt down. “Where are you going?”

He grinned sarcastically. “I’m going to go kick his ass.”

“No. Don’t—”

Elliott disappeared. Virgil chuckled. “Don’t fret. He won’t kill him. Probably.”

Amalya picked a pillow up and chucked it at him.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

Maurice

Maurice had made quite a habit out of doing business by phone. He’d now sent his associates on two errands and they still came back without his amulet. Blood all over their hands, and with nothing to show for it. Now the talisman was in the possession of a museum in Chicago. A. God. Damn. Museum.

The Englishman from Surrey employed Julia Dunham as a gopher at the young age of sixteen. He’d chosen the naïve girl because of her innocent appearance; she’d been exactly what his organization needed to pull off certain operations under the noses of unsuspecting law enforcement officials. Customs agents who would think twice about searching her bags. Deep strawberry blonde hair, innocent green doe-eyes, and an almost perfectly symmetrical face. The girl was a beauty. It was such a tragic waste she had to die. Everyone in his organization had taken to her, especially Bryant. Truth be told, Julia was a valuable asset and Maurice was afraid the psychopath might kill her. He’d been correct, of course. The thug had been obsessed with her. Stared at her all the time. Always wanted to be near her. It annoyed him that he’d worked so diligently to keep the two apart; he even told the hoodlum she thought he was a loser. And now she was dead.

Julia’s beguiling ways could get anyone to do anything for her. Even he had fallen for her charms. FBI agents once showed up at his office with a search warrant and she was able to convince them nothing was amiss in his business activities. Maurice asked her how she was able to have such a power over people. The girl shook her head, but her eyes gave her away. Although, in her defense, he was an expert in reading body language. She’d glanced down at her necklace, then he knew her secret.

Maurice stared at the vintage telephone on his desk. The numbers on the rotary dial were mother-of-pearl and onyx and the handset hung across two-forked prongs. He waited for the damn thing to ring. Two hours past the time the curator for the Chicago museum said he’d call about the amulet, the phone rang. Several rings later, because he didn’t want to seem too eager, Maurice answered. He went through the customary greetings on autopilot.

“The piece you inquired about isn’t for sale,” the curator told him.

Maurice sighed and placed a hand on the desk blotter in from of him. “The amulet was stolen from me.”

“Do you have a bill of sale or police report documenting your ownership?” The man’s German accent didn’t make him sound distinguished, to Maurice he sounded like a Nazi and was standing between him and the necklace.

“No. We already discussed this, the antique was a family heirloom. I do
not
have a
receipt
.” He accentuated the “T.”

“You didn’t file a police report?”

“I was hoping to deal with this without involving the authorities because of the time required for an investigation. In addition, the police would want to keep the piece for an unspecified amount of time as evidence.”

“I understand your—”

“Do you, Tomas? Because I don’t think you do.” Maurice hated phones; he wanted to wring the gentleman’s neck.

Silence filled the connection. He tapped his fingers on the leather pad.

“Perhaps,” Maurice continued, “we can negotiate. I’m willing to make a considerable contribution to the museum.”

“Well, thank you and we’d greatly appreciate any donation, but we’re firm about the piece remaining in our collect—”

“Maybe, you didn’t hear me…a sizable contribution.”

“How sizable?”

Not as firm as you thought…

Maurice grinned. “Name your price.”

Tomas cleared his throat. “Ah…the piece isn’t for sale.”

Maurice’s jaw worked overtime. His eye twitched. “Thank you, Tomas, you’ll be hearing from my attorneys. Good day.” He had no intention of informing or sending anyone in his place to take care of business this time. A threatening letter wouldn’t help either. Maurice needed to be in Chicago. He was going to get the amulet back, even if he had to steal it.